


Smooth Criminal

by LoopyLouXD



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Crime, Implied Sexual Content, Mentions of Sexual Content, Parentlock, Some very slight fluff, Torture, daughter - Freeform, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:22:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6396220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoopyLouXD/pseuds/LoopyLouXD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So who is she?” John asked as they walked up the stairs to their apartment.<br/>“Her name is Annabel Jackson or Annie, as she prefers, and she’s a very dangerous and well connected young woman.” Sherlock finally answered. “She’s a devious, emotionally damaged sociopath."<br/>“So how do you know her?”<br/>“Oh, she’s a… ah, well I suppose you could say, friend of mine,” Sherlock answered hesitantly.<br/>Occasionally there are those who come along who seem to able to deceive even the great Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock's friend, Annie, is one of them. When she goes missing, the Consulting Detective finds himself in a much deeper situation than he had originally intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've had stored away for a little while now, and am finally getting around to posting. Apologies for the iffy summary. This story has been completed, but as I'm currently editing the last half of it, I'll only put up a chapter or two at a time :)

It was raining, again. The black-clad man could hear the tap, tap, tap on the windows as he knelt over the girl. He let out a breath of relief as he felt her pulse, silently thanking God that she was not dead – his boss would not have been happy to hear he had killed the target. As the man dragged the girl into the living room, he looked out the large windows at the grey, bleak sky, stretching out over the Thames. Did this country never see the sun, he wondered vaguely, as he texted his boss and told him to bring the car around.

Throwing the girl’s limp body over his shoulder he surveyed the room. He had definitely not been very subtle in getting this girl, like his boss had instructed; the room was a mess of fallen objects and the carpet was covered in bloodstains from their fight.  
Oh well, he thought, his boss would never know.


	2. A Case!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds himself a new case, only to discover that its a little closer to home than he would prefer.

“John!”

Sherlock’s yell sounded throughout the apartment, making John jump and drop the plate he was washing. Angrily, he stormed into the living room, where he found Sherlock throwing papers off his desk and muttering under his breath.

“What the hell are you doing?” John asked him. Sherlock turned, annoyance pasted over his face.

“Looking for my phone, have you seen it? It was ringing.” Sherlock explained in a rush. John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock and pointed to the fireplace.

“Above the fireplace, where I put it after you threw it at the wall. Are you sure it was ringing? I’d be surprised if it still worked.”

Sherlock almost jumped with glee and rushed over to his phone, snatching it up as if it were the Holy Grail itself. After fiddling with the buttons for a few seconds a cry of triumph escaped his lips. “Yes!” he exclaimed loudly, a smile breaking across his face.

“What?” John asked, after he’d gotten over the shock of Sherlock's behaviour.

“A case, John!” Sherlock announced with more excitement than John had seen in weeks.. “A case! Get your coat, we’ve got a crime to solve! Oh, how I hope it’s a murder!” Sherlock plucked his scarf from the couch and hurried towards the door. “Finally a decent distraction!” he cried as he ran down the stairs, a look of delight in his eyes.

John sighed and grabbed his jacket from beside the door, far too used to occasions like this. “At least the bloody wall will get a break,” he muttered to himself as he followed the detective out onto the street.

*-*-*-*-*

Sherlock knelt down beside the bloodstained carpet and looked back to Lestrade.   
“Details,” he said to the Detective Inspector, “what do we know?” Lestrade looked quickly at his notes before answering.

“At about nine-thirty this morning, officers were called to this address after neighbours heard loud noises –”

“What kind of loud noises?” Sherlock interrupted.

“Banging, crashing, like someone was having a fight.”

Sherlock looked around the destroyed apartment, “Well you didn’t need me to tell you that. What else?”

“We haven’t found a body, but as you can see, there are bloodstains everywhere.” Lestrade saw Sherlock mutter something under his breath but chose to ignore him. “The apartment is registered to a criminal defence lawyer named Stephanie Maslow.” Lestrade saw Sherlock’s head tilt slightly at the name and as he went on, the consulting detective slowly stood up. “We’re trying to contact her firm but –”

“Don’t bother,” Sherlock said. “It’s a fake name.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Lestrade asked, raising his eyebrows. Slowly, Sherlock turned to face him, his eyes darting about the room.

“Did you find any ID’s in this apartment?” he asked and Lestrade could tell something was going on just by the tone of Sherlock’s voice.

“Ah, yeah,” Lestrade looked at his notes again. “We found ID’s belonging to several different people. A bus pass belonging to a Lucy Bane, a passport in the name of Kayla Madsen–”

“What about Annabel Jackson?” Sherlock asked quickly. Lestrade frowned. “Was there anything belonging to someone named Annabel Jackson?”

“Yeah… there was a credit card under that name.” Lestrade said slowly, seeing a flash of recognition cross Sherlock’s face. “We found it in the pocket of a jacket on the couch… Why? Who’s Annabel Jackson?”

“She’s… an acquaintance of mine,” Sherlock said softly, frowning as he thought.

“Oh, Sherlock, I’m sorry–” Lestrade began but Sherlock cut him off.

“Why are you sorry?” Sherlock asked, confused

“For your loss,” Lestrade said a little incredulously; surely even _Sherlock_ could not be so unfeeling.

“My loss?” Sherlock snapped. “But she’s not dead.”

“What do you mean she’s not dead?”

“If she was dead, they would have left her here, they wouldn’t bother moving her, there’s no point. The police would discover who she was and then they would not care to investigate. No, the only reason to take her is because she’s more useful alive than dead.” Sherlock was talking quickly now and Lestrade frowned as he attempted to keep up. Then Sherlock said, “Besides, none of that matters anyway. You should probably just call off your investigation.”

“What? Why?”

“Because, Detective Inspector, you and your people wouldn’t want to touch any case to do with Annabel Jackson with a ten foot pole,” Sherlock explained quietly.

“Sherlock, I am not _calling off_ this investigation!” Lestrade said incredulously. “Now for God’s sake, would you tell me what’s going on?”

Sherlock looked around the room once again before eyeing the large windows behind Lestrade. “Have your men already photographed the area?” Sherlock asked quickly, a note of urgency in his voice.

“Yes but–”

“Lestrade, you need to get everyone out of this building now.” Sherlock said, keeping his voice low.

“Sherlock, why on earth would I do that?”

“Because Annabel Jackson is a very dangerous young woman – not the kind of girl just anyone annoys.”

“So?”

“So,” Sherlock hissed, irritation creeping into his voice, “anyone who attempts to harm her is either stupid or even more dangerous – or a combination of the two. Now, I’d be highly surprised if there isn’t some sort of bomb primed to go off or poisonous gas ready to leak out of the air vents. So, unless you want a lot of paperwork on your hands, get your people out, now.”


	3. Let's Get Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock begins his investigation and explains just who Annabel Jackson is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll apologise in advance for the following deductions as they are certainly not my forte.

“So who is she?” John asked as they walked up the stairs to their apartment. The cab ride home had been very quiet, aside from Sherlock’s constant mutterings, and now John was ready for some answers.

Sherlock ignored him for a moment as he dropped himself into a chair and tore open an envelope containing the pictures from the crime scene; Scotland Yard had enlisted ‘professionals’ to screen the apartment and discover whether or not Sherlock was right about the bomb, and so he would have to settle for the photos for the time being.  
“Her name is Annabel Jackson or Annie, as she prefers, and she’s a very dangerous and well connected young woman.” Sherlock finally answered, not taking his eyes off the photos.

“Right… and how do _you_ know her?” John asked as he walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on. “Is she someone you arrested?” Sherlock snorted derisively.

“Please John; Annie is not the sort of person that gets _arrested_.”

“I thought you told Lestrade that she’s a criminal?”

“She is.”

“Then why wouldn’t you arrest her?”

“Because there’s no point in arresting her.” Sherlock answered vaguely. John sighed, annoyed.

“Alright Sherlock, enough with the melodrama,” he said, striding over and snatching the photos out of detective’s hands. “If you don’t start giving me proper answers right now, you’re not getting your photos back.”

“John, you’re being ridiculous,” Sherlock snapped angrily. “I am not a child.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” John muttered, earning a glare from Sherlock. “Start talking or you won’t get them back.” Sherlock proceeded to glare at John for a moment or two before he answered with a sigh.

“I don’t arrest her because I don’t _want_ to arrest her,” Sherlock huffed. Then, after a raised eyebrow from John, he said, 

“She’s more valuable to me out on the streets, and I don’t particularly see any reason to arrest her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well she’s never actually committed a crime herself, first of all.,” Sherlock explained, “I mean, I _suspect_ that she may have killed a few people once or twice, but I’m sure they deserved it and there’s no hard evidence to pin on her. No, she’s clever, very clever actually, and therefore is very good with coming up with plans and ideas that some people find… useful in their line of work. She’s well known amongst certain criminal circles, as a matter of fact.”

“So, what does she do, exactly?” John asked patiently, taking a seat across from Sherlock.

“She lets slip little bits of information and advice to people who are in need of it. Then, a few days later, she finds an envelope full of money in her mailbox. She doesn’t actively participate in any crimes, and she’s really just trying to survive in a dangerous world; what else is an intelligent young girl to do.”

John began to nod slowly but stopped just as quick. “Hang on, how young are we talking?”

“Hmm? Oh, I believe she’s nineteen.”

“Nineteen years old?” John repeated. “And she’s already a ‘well known’ criminal? What about her parents?”

“Oh, they’re both dead,” Sherlock said, in a tone that said it didn’t really matter. “She much prefers it that way.”

“She prefers her parents’ dead?” John asked, shaking his head slightly. “What kind of a girl is this?”

“A slightly unhinged one, as a matter of fact,” Sherlock said idly. “She’s a devious, emotionally damaged sociopath. Though that’s not why she prefers them dead.”

“Then why does she?” John asked him and Sherlock sighed theatrically.

“Her mother was a drug addict who couldn’t keep a job. Her father left when she was quite young and her mother then married an abusive, alcoholic of a man. He tormented her most of her life, so you could understand why she was relieved when he was killed in a mugging. Her mother never really cared that much for her and when she died of a drug overdose when Annie was fourteen, she wasn’t that affected by it. If anything, it finally gave her the freedom she always craved. Her step-father was quite a wealthy man so, with both her parents dead, she was free to take her inheritance and run away to wherever she liked. I believe many fourteen year olds in her situation would behave similarly, let alone an emotionally damaged genius of a child.”

John sat down, taking this all in. He kind of felt sorry for the girl now – he supposed with an upbringing like that, she didn’t have much of chance for a normal life.

“So how do you know her?” John asked, pulling Sherlock out of his own thoughts.

“Oh, she’s a… ah, well I suppose you could say, _friend of mine_ ,” Sherlock answered hesitantly.

“A friend of yours?” John repeated, surprised. “That must be a story. How did you meet then? Did you catch her on something and then decide to let her go?” Sherlock rolled his eyes at his flatmate.

“John, if I had ever caught her doing something _properly_ illegal, I would have had her arrested there and then. No one is ever able to pin anything on her.”

“You mean she’s smarter than you?” John asked, smiling at the look of annoyance that flashed across Sherlock’s face.

“No, I just don’t go out of my way to look into any of her crimes,” Sherlock snapped. “As I said earlier, I don’t particularly feel the need to have her arrested.”

“Alright, alright,” John said, raising his hands in surrender. “So how’d you meet then?”

“Through my Homeless network.” Sherlock said simply and John laughed.

“Homeless network? From the look of her apartment I wouldn’t say she’s homeless – it was nicer than ours! And I thought you said she had plenty of money?”

Sherlock stared at John incredulously for a moment. “Not all the people in my Homeless network are homeless, John. As it happens, Annie went out of her way to establish herself into it for the exact same reason I created it; to gain information.”  
Suddenly, Sherlock jumped out of his chair and grabbed the photos out of John’s hands.

“Hey!” John shouted.

“I’ve answered your questions, I think I deserve these.” Sherlock snapped. “We do need to find her after all.”

“So you don’t think she’s dead?” John asked him.

“I know she’s not dead – she’s been kidnapped. The question is, by whom?”

*-*-*-*-*

A few hours later John got a call from Sarah. He emerged from his room to find Sherlock in the exact same spot he had been in for three hours; legs over the arm of the chair, staring intently at the photos that he held in his hands.

“Sherlock,” John said, grabbing his jacket, “I’m going out. Sarah just called; she needs me to cover a shift. I won’t be back for a while.” He waited in the doorway for Sherlock’s reply but only received a nod of his head. John doubted that Sherlock had actually heard what he said, but that wasn’t his problem. Without a second look back, he closed the door and dashed down the stairs.

Meanwhile, Sherlock continued to stare at the pictures taken of the crime scene. Something wasn’t right, he knew. Something was off and as he stared at the pictures, his mind seemed to be screaming at him. Then, finally, after hours of searching, he saw it; the keys!

Beside the door, there was a hook where Annie had kept her keys. Having known Annie for quite a few years now, Sherlock knew that she kept all of her keys on the one key ring… but the key ring wasn’t on the hook- in fact, he distinctly remembered seeing the keys by the table in the middle of the room. Sherlock flipped to the picture of the table and pulled his magnifying glass out of his pocket. Yes, there were the keys and, on closer inspection, what seemed to be blood on the corner of the table.

In his mind, he could see it all unfolding; Annie walking into her apartment and stopping before she put the keys on the hook- she was clever, and always noticed the little things, she probably realised quite quickly that someone else was in the room. He imagined her looking around, trying to seem casual, then quickly walking to the table, where no doubt she had a weapon placed. Someone had most likely jumped her from behind then, causing her to hit her head on the corner of the table and drop the keys… She probably kicked out at her attacker then, which would explain the drop of blood over there. He could see her scrambling up, then getting thrown by her attacker into the mirror beside the door to her bedroom. She would have tried to get away again, choosing the quickest route away from her advancing attacker; the bedroom door. Sherlock was sure that if he examined the carpet in her room, he’d find a trail of mirror fragments that she left.

He flicked to the photo of her bedroom then, noticing the bed covers strewn on the floor and little bits of blood on the sheets from where the mirror had cut her. She would have been trying to get to the bedside table where he knew she often kept another weapon, just in case. Judging by the fact that drawer in the bedside table seemed relatively untouched; he guessed that she never made it to the weapon.

That’s when he noticed the book weight, on the floor by the bed. The attacker must have grabbed it and, wanting to keep her alive, hit her over the back of the head with it, knocking her out.  
Yes!

A grin spread across Sherlock’s face; he knew what had happened. All he had to do now, was work who did it and why and then it would be relatively easy to find her.

So, who would have the guts to kidnap the one and only Annie Jackson?


	4. Investigations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ground work begins.

The taxi dropped them off on the corner of an empty, dodgy looking street lined with old warehouses. John was surprised to see how empty the area was, it wasn’t that late after all.

“No one really comes out here,” Sherlock said, answering John’s unasked question.

“Then why are we out here?” John asked, frowning as the Detective led him down a side street towards one of the warehouses.

“Because, John,” he said, stopping outside a large metal door, “this is where the criminals gather.” And with that, he pulled the door open and it screeched along the ground, echoing into the warehouse.  
As John followed Sherlock inside, he caught a glance of a group of men, huddling around a fire that blazed in what looked like an old oil drum. As John watched, the men turned around to them, startled.

“Evening gentlemen,” Sherlock said cheerily. Almost instantly, John watched as they warily reached for any number of varied weapons that they, no doubt, kept on their person. Sherlock didn’t even blink. “How are we all?”  
No one answered. Instead they just continued to stare at the Detective and his friend. John eyed the men and his hands twitched towards his own gun, but then he caught a glance from Sherlock, warning him not to.  
Sherlock stepped forward. “I’m here to ask you a few questions about Annabel Jackson.”

“You the police?” one of them asked, eyeing them carefully.

“No.”

“Then what’s she got to do with you?”

“I’m sure you’re all aware that she’s been kidnapped,” Sherlock said and he saw a few people shift uneasily. “I’m the one who’s looking for her.”

“Why would you care what’s happened to her?” A young man said, moving from the back of the crowd. As he came closer, Sherlock took note of the fact that he could not have been older than his early twenties.

“I’m a… friend of hers,” Sherlock said, after a slight hesitation; he still wasn’t used to using that word so often.

“And who exactly might you be?” The young man asked, cocking his head to the side a bit.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes,” he answered. “I’m a consulting detective to Scotland Yard. This is my associate, Doctor Watson.”

“I thought you said you weren’t the police?” another man yelled gruffly.

“I’m not.”

“So you’re Sherlock Holmes then,” the young man, apparently holding some authority within the group, said. “I expected you to be taller.”

“You’ve heard of me?” Sherlock asked, though his voice showed no surprise.

“Oh yes, Annie is always telling us how brilliant you are – she’s very fond of you,” the young man replied, gesturing to the others to relax a little. “She said, if a man named Sherlock Holmes is ever looking into you, don’t bother trying to get away with whatever it is you’ve done, just turn yourself in and save everyone the trouble.” He grinned. “Not that any of us here have ever done anything wrong, have we boys?”

There was some muted laughter and a rumble of sarcastic agreement. Sherlock shook his head at them. “I don’t care who you are, or whether you’ve done anything wrong,” he said quickly. “I told you, I’m just here to ask about Annie– I’m trying to find her.”

“Well then,” he began, “I’m sure a few of us would be willing to help out, I know I am. After all, a friend of Annie’s is a mutual acquaintance of mine,” he smiled at his own joke, “and I like to help my mutual acquaintances.”

The young man stepped towards them, leading them away from the group that had already began to disperse. Despite Sherlock’s assurance that he wasn’t there for them, John watched several of them head straight for the door, while a few others that seemed unfazed by the detective didn’t bother to move from the fire.

“The name’s Logan, Logan Bane,” the young man said, holding out a hand to Sherlock.

“Ah,” Sherlock said, ignoring the hand, “you’re Logan? Annie’s spoken of you before – she seems to fancy you.”

“Sherlock,” John hissed, frowning and nudging his friend. “You’re not supposed to just tell people that…”

“Aren’t I?” Sherlock asked, looking at John, perplexed. Bane just laughed.

“No, no, it’s alright,” he said, grinning. “All the girls just seem to love me. I can never decide whether it’s my looks or my charm.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

“Mr Bane,” he said, changing the subject, “when did you last see Annie?”

“Oh, I’d say a couple days ago,” Bane replied, after a slight pause. “We were hanging out around the docks with a couple of our mates.”

“Mr Bane,” Sherlock said, his voice emotionless, “please don’t try to lie to me. It’s insulting. Now, when did you really last see Annie?”

The young man frowned, leaning back against the wall. “Seems Annie was right, Mr Holmes, you can’t be lied to.”

“No, I can’t. But now the question that’s running through my mind is ‘why would you lie at all?’ The only reasonable explanation is that you’re hiding something, or you don’t want to implicate yourself. Which is it?” Sherlock asked, his voice cold. A small smirk appeared on Logan’s lips.

“The last time I saw Annie,” he said slowly, “was the morning she was kidnapped.”

“And where exactly did you see her?” Sherlock asked and he saw Bane clench his jaw a bit.

“Well she… stayed over my place the night before,” he answered, his smirk still there but his words hesitant. “If you get what I’m saying…” Sherlock cocked his head.

“You had sex the night before she was kidnapped?” he said, and Bane nodded.

“If you wanna just go right out and say it then, yeah, we had sex.” Bane answered, an eyebrow raised. “The next morning, she left my place at about eight, and that was the last time I saw her.”

Sherlock frowned and wandered away, most likely to question the other men. John, however, stayed.

John sighed. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Annie?” He asked and Bane snorted derisively. “I can think of a few, yeah,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But none of them would’ve done it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because none of them are that stupid.” He answered. “Annie is… an influential person…” he said, seeing John’s questioning glance. “She’s got a lot of powerful friends, who wouldn’t like to see her hurt… People aren’t stupid enough to go after her because of these friends.”

“Right, and these friends are?”

Bane gave a small smile. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, sir…”

“And why not?”

“Because these friends prefer to remain anonymous, and I prefer to keep my head…”

“You realise that you could be charged for withholding information, right?”

“Go ahead,” Bane smirked. “I’d be out in twenty minutes.”

“Mr Bane, this could be important in finding out what happened to Annie,” John said.

“Listen - Doctor Watson, was it? I’d love to help you out, but I can’t give you those names, unless I want to end up floating in the Thames.”

John looked at him incredulously. “Your friend has been kidnapped, but you won’t give us the information that could help us find her?”

“Trust me, I want to find her more than anyone, but I can’t give you those names.” His face softened slightly. “I’ve got people out looking for her – we’ll find her soon enough.”


End file.
